Hidden Fragments Chapter 4

Previously in Hidden Fragments:
After a long night in his prison cell Calen was unexpectedly released though Drenick warned him he would always be watched, since he was certain Calen knew more about the hidden and forbidden Scrolls. Weary but free, he set off on foot toward home, hungry and uncertain, wrestling with new questions about the Creator.

Yet freedom brought its own dangers. A hooded stranger tracked his steps through the hills, forcing Calen to hide in the rocks. Relief came only when he heard the bells of goats and met a young shepherdess whose quiet faith and small cross hinted that she, too, believed in the God of Asher and Angus. For the first time since leaving prison, Calen felt a spark of hope.

Chapter 4

Sacred Words, Stolen Moments

Calen stared in astonishment at the girl before him. Her long, flaring dress of coarse fabric suited the thorny terrain she crossed with her goats. She looked every bit the farm girl in traditional clothing. A broad belt cinched her waist; the hilt of a sturdy knife protruded from its leather sheath. Clearly, she wasn’t someone to be trifled with. A white vest hugged her torso, neatly tied, and a blue headscarf hid her pinned-up hair, except for a few mischievous curls that slipped free, as if greeting him with a cheeky, 'Hello, stranger. So glad you came.'

But what truly made her stand out was her smile.

Angus had worn that same smile, despite his wounds, his weariness and his age. Asher, too, had carried it.

What was the source of that bold, unshakable joy now so radiantly alive on the face of this humble farm girl?

Could it really be God?

“You look a little tired,” she said in a melodic voice so soothing that all his worry about the mysterious pursuer drained from him like water from a cracked jug. “Come, and rest awhile.”

Calen settled onto a large stone, suddenly aware of how tired and hungry he truly was. The dog stood and crept closer, sniffing the boot where a sliver of his scroll stuck out.

“Winston,” the farm girl said to the dog, “mind your manners.”

The dog looked up, then lay down at Calen’s feet, still watching him intently, as if to say: ‘I’m watching you, pal. One wrong move and you’ll regret it.’

Calen shifted uncomfortably as far away as he could on the stone and looked at the farm girl with uncertainty.

She laughed again. “Don’t worry about Winston,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “He’s well-trained and won’t harm you … unless I tell him to.”

Calen nodded. No, this girl wasn’t someone to mess with.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, watching him closely.

“A little,” Calen replied. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

She sat down on another stone, opened a rough leather bag and pulled out a loaf of bread. “Here, help yourself,” she said. “I have plenty.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m Marisa. I live nearby with my grandfather. And you? What brings you here?”

“I’m Calen,” he said, breaking off a piece of bread. “And I’m a scribe.”

She chuckled. “Ah yes, that explains everything. Scribes pass through our rugged land every day, don’t they?”

Calen blushed. How much could he really tell Marisa? When he looked up, the small cross around her neck caught the sunlight again and glinted brightly. He hesitated and bit his lower lip, then asked, “What did you mean earlier when you said the One who walks with us makes sure we’re never alone?”

Her eyes lit up again. “I meant Jesus,” she said softly, her voice full of reverence. “The Prince of Peace walks with all His children. And when I saw you, I had the feeling you were one of them too.” She looked at him, her expression gently questioning. “Or… was I mistaken?”

“I… uh…” Calen murmured. “I’m not sure.” He raised the bread to his mouth, grateful for the excuse to avoid her eyes.

A brief silence fell, broken only by the persistent buzz of a fly drawn to the bread. It hovered around Calen, circling hungrily until it made the fatal mistake of landing too close to Winston. With a swift snap of his jaws, the dog dispatched it to the afterlife.

“Have you not heard of The Scrolls of the Ages?” Marisa finally asked him.

Calen nodded slowly but kept his words guarded. “I’ve heard of it … but I don’t know much about it. What exactly is it?”

“It’s the Word of God,” Marisa said with reverence. “A collection of historical and prophetic writings from long ago, written under the inspiration of God’s Spirit.”

Calen brushed some crumbs from his mouth and stared at the remaining piece of bread in his hand as he pondered Marisa’s words. He looked up and said, “Written under the inspiration of God? I don’t understand that. Isn’t The Book of Order enough?”

Marisa raised her eyebrows, clearly puzzled. Then, a wide smile broke across her face like sunlight piercing through a cloudy sky on a rainy day. “The Book of Order?” she scoffed. “There’s nothing in that book that brings joy. If you ask me, it’s not inspired at all. It’s just written by the Council of Twelve to keep us in line.”

“Dangerous words,” Calen said thoughtfully.

Marisa gave him a questioning look, and Calen realized his skeptical attitude might be making her doubt him. So, in a softer, more reassuring tone, he added, “But don’t worry, I don’t put much faith in The Book of Order either. I’ve often wondered why there’s so much misery if that book is supposed to guide us toward a happy society. Our world isn’t exactly flourishing and most people who cling to The Book of Order tend to be harsh, cruel and unkind. People like Captain Drenick.”

“Who is Captain Drenick?” Marisa asked.

“Someone I know,” Calen replied flatly. He glanced around cautiously before whispering, “To be honest, I too have my doubts about The Book of Order. On the other hand, I’m not even sure if the God you speak of really exists.” Then, almost sheepishly, he added, “But I’d like to read about Him. Do you happen to have a copy of The Scrolls of the Ages?”

Marisa shook her head. “You say you’re a scribe? Don’t you know the Council of Twelve declared that book illegal long ago?”

Calen felt his ears flush with heat. “I … uh … wasn’t raised with any knowledge about The Scrolls of the Ages,” he stammered. He hesitated. How much could he tell this girl? But she was so open, so warm and kind. It was as if she was gently coaxing the words out of him and honestly, he wanted nothing more than to talk about these things.

“You weren’t?”

“I mean, I grew up as a child among the Silent Scribes. All we ever heard about was The Book of Order. Nothing else was allowed.”

His revelation about his upbringing shocked Marisa, and she responded sharply, “You mean the monastery where they copy The Book of Order?”

“I’ve been away from there for a few years now,” he murmured weakly, hoping it was enough to take away her doubts about him.

Obviously, she thought little of that notorious place. But could he be blamed? His father had placed him in the monastery at nine, too young to question anything. That he’d grown up almost entirely unaware of The Scrolls of the Ages spoke volumes about how thoroughly the government silenced dissent.

After completing his training with the Silent Scribes, he occasionally heard fragments about strange followers of a dangerous sect, bent on disrupting society, but he had never wanted to get involved. Now however, he felt ashamed. Everything that had happened to him in recent days had shown him there might be more going on than he had been taught during his education with the Silent Scribes.

But now, Marisa seemed different. More distant. While she still carried a calm presence, some of her original warmth appeared to have slipped away.

Calen cleared his throat and said, “You have nothing to fear from me, Marisa. There just seems to be much I don’t know about. Can you tell me more about The Scrolls of the Ages?”

At that moment, Marisa jumped up. One of the little goats had wandered off from the herd. She placed her hand on Winston’s head and said, “Winston, go ahead, bring that little one back.”

Winston rushed off and Calen watched fascinated as the dog quickly herded the goat back to the flock.

“You’ve got it well under control,” he said, genuinely impressed.

Marisa sat down again, looked at him intently and said, “Actually, we’re all like that little goat. We easily stray from the right path. We all need a shepherd to care for us and protect us when we go astray. That’s the main idea behind The Scrolls of the Ages.” As she spoke, her eyes began to sparkle again. “God, our heavenly Father, is the great Shepherd. He watches over us. Not the Council of Twelve.”

“But I don’t see God,” Calen objected. “If I need help, I can go to the Council and ask for advice. I can see them.”

Marisa chuckled softly. “Of course you can. But what kind of advice do you really expect from them?” Her warm smile returned as she added, “You don’t have to see God to believe in Him. He wants to dwell quietly, yet very close, within our hearts.”

Calen nodded. Angus had said similar things. He vaguely remembered some of the things he had written down while Angus whispered the words of The Scrolls of the Ages to him.

“And all of that is written in The Scrolls of the Ages?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Marisa said. “And much more. It tells us where we come from, where we’re going, and what is the reason for our existence. That’s why the Council of Twelve tries to destroy the book.”

Calen began to understand why Angus had been so concerned.

For a moment, his gaze drifted across the distant fields and the vast expanse of sky, where enormous clouds parted to let the sun peek through. He was struck by the beauty of it all.

And God was the creator of all this?

Suddenly, it all felt a lot more believable. He would like to read the Scrolls of the Ages for himself.

At last, he asked, “Is there anyone who possesses all the parts of that book?”

Marisa shook her head. “The Council of Twelve has done its work, but many of God’s children have parts of it.”

“Do you and your grandfather have a part, too?” Calen asked eagerly.

Marisa narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Suddenly, a powerful urge surged through Calen to draw the worn texts he had painstakingly copied from his boot and reveal them to this gentle girl. He longed to pour out everything that had happened to him and to learn more about the mystery of that wondrous book and the great Shepherd who watches over and cares for all who follow Him.

“Listen,” he began. “I’ll tell you everything. Have you ever heard of Angus Stonevale?”

“Of course,” Marisa whispered, and Calen could see she was all ears.

He cleared his throat and told her about his visit to Angus’s place, his meeting with Asher in prison who told him to go to Ömstead, and he finally pulled from his boot the notes he had written while sitting beside Angus on the floor.

“What’s that?” Marisa asked with wide eyes.

“I’m not sure which part of The Scrolls of the Ages this is,” Calen said apologetically, “but it mentions something about the Word of God.”

“C-Can I see it?” Marisa asked, her eyes wide as she stared at the papers in Calen’s hand.

“Of course,” Calen said, handing her the writings. “But be careful with it. Angus died for this.”

She shot him a reproachful look and Calen realized there had been no need to say that.

Gently, Marisa ran her fingers over the paper as if it were more precious than gold and then began to read with deep reverence:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

She looked up, her eyes glowing like a little girl who’d just been told she could have every sweet treat in the bakery.

“This … this is beautiful,” she whispered, breathless. “I have to show this to my grandfather.”

She pressed the bundle to her lips and gave it a soft kiss. Then she said, “You’re a scribe. Could you make us a copy?”

Calen didn’t know what to say, when suddenly Winston let out a low, sharp growl. The snap of a twig shattered the silence.

Calen looked up, and froze.

There, half-hidden behind a boulder, a silhouette appeared; a thin, wiry figure cloaked in a dark tunic and hood.

The pursuer.

And he had seen exactly what Calen had handed to Marisa.

Calen’s heart pounded in his chest. He glanced at Marisa, who was still unaware of the danger, her eyes shining with hope. But that shadow lurking just beyond the rock wasn’t here for kindness. Calen instinctively moved closer to Winston.

It was time to run, or did he need to fight?